


The First Case

by fictionaltherapist



Series: Leah Dawson [1]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Case Fic, F/F, F/M, Murder, Police
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionaltherapist/pseuds/fictionaltherapist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Dawson's first day should not go as badly as mine did. A first case should not go that badly wrong. But mine did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Case

I had been fine all morning, even allowing myself the luxury of some cautious excitement. It was not until I was in the lift, moving ever closer to the third floor where I was to work, that I realised exactly what I had gotten myself into. I was about to enter an office filled with vampires, werewolves, witches and a myriad of other creatures. Most of them would be stronger than me, not that that was difficult, and some of them would be three or four times my age, or my mother’s age, or my great-great grandmother’s age. So basically I was walking into the proverbial lion’s den. And I had only my as yet untested magical talent and their infamously lax self-control to protect me. 

So I was entirely within my rights to be having a panic attack in the lift. If I wanted to I was entirely within my rights to run screaming from the building never to return, as any sane person would. But sane is a word that is rarely used in our world. Spending all day with creatures that shouldn’t exist outside of horror stories tends to skew the idea of sanity. So rather than stabbing the ground floor button as hard as I could and scarpering I tightened my right hand around my satchel’s strap, my left hand around the wand tucked in my waistband and forced the panic down through sheer force of will. My hands stopped shaking and moisture returned to my mouth. Tentative excitement returned to the fore. There’s quite a lot can be said of a witch’s power of focus. Some of it is vaguely positive.

Anyway, by the time the lift doors screeched open on the third floor bullpen I was calm and collected. Calm and collected enough that the way that every pair of eyes in the place snapped immediately onto me only unnerved me slightly, rather than having me in a fit of panic. They’d all turned when they heard the lift doors open, sensitive to noise as only law enforcement professionals, small children and dogs are. I don’t know what they were expecting, but I doubt a scrawny witch who looked like a university student was exactly it. 

Their interest seemed to return to their work very quickly, excepting a tall, broad shouldered man who took in my confusion, seemingly realised who I was and rushed over. I could practically smell the vampire as he stopped in front of me. To be honest I'm surprised I managed ti notice anything past his bulk. He must have been six foot two or more, and was about as wide. But I did notice the vamp on him. It was kind of hard not to, considering the pallor of his skin and the feral look in his eyes. It has always amazed me that the vamps have managed to stay hidden from humans when they were so clealry otherworldly. But maybe they only look like that to us. I don't know. 

Anyway, he appraised me with his feral eyes and nodded.

“Leah Dawson?” It was half question, half statement. I nodded my agreement and he stuck his hand out. I shook it out of courtesy rather than any real wish too. He put slightly too much strength into what seemed to be a greeting. I think it was more of a test. I returned the contact with just as much force as he gave it. By his smile this was the correct response. Or maybe he was sizing me up for a snack. You never know with the vampires.

“Edward Kettering.” Captain Edward Kettering, the guy in charge of everything. “I knew your dad, back before…well, I knew your dad. If you’re even half the cop he was, you’ll fit in well here.”

“Thank you.”

“Right, well, that’s done with. Jack!” So the captains awkwardness really hadn't been overstated by dad, whatever mum had said. It's really rare that someone can outdo me in the social awkwardness stakes but Kettering had managed with plenty to spare. An attractive, youngish guy came over at his beckon. While I was looking at him Edward disappeared, exit marked by the loud slamming of his office door. I was quite offended by that. When I turned back around the guy he had summoned was looking at me expectantly, hand out.

“Hi, you must be the rookie. I’m Jack.” I shook his hand. I could feel the magic faintly vibrating through his handshake. He was doing it on purpose to show what he was. A witch. Old family. Old, old family from the strength of the vibrations. He was getting a similar read off of me, if not stronger once I relaxed the hold I had on my magic. Well, stronger down exactly one half of me. The Dawson half had magic lighting up like Christmas lights, while the other half of me was dull and human. Normal. Boring. From our ten second contact he would have gotten a near complete read on me, including the rather sordid, to some eyes, events that surrounded my conception. Ah, the joys of being surrounded by other magicals, with the universal qualities of being nosy as fuck and having the means to find out a hell of a lot about you, one way or another. The end of the handshake left me with a lot of questions and no answers. The intrigue in his blue-green eyes showed he had considerably more answers than I did.

The old family vibe had intrigued me. A lot. Enough that my curiosity outweighed my still present fear.

“Jack…?” I pressed.

“Jack Harper. Detective Jack Harper, if you want to get formal about it.” That made sense, the Harpers are one of the few families as old as the Dawsons, if not as prestigious. “And you are Leah Dawson.” He said it like it was a great revelation, hands flourishing and smile lighting up his face. It would have been if I hadn’t been introduced as such two minutes before.

“So you overheard Kettering. Well done.”

“No, I didn’t overhear Kettering. He made damn sure no one did. Guess he wants you to be judged on performance not name. But it’s not hard to work out. A half-witch Kettering went out of his way to personally deal with? Not too many possibilities. You have the Dawson brown eyes but red hair. I’m a detective. Putting facts together is my job.”

“Well done then. I prefer Lee to Leah, but well done all the same.” I was rather more at ease now. At ease enough to talk like a person who belonged here, rather than a child on a school trip. Not that any school where the teachers have half a brain would send their pupils to a cop shop filled with monsters as a school trip, but the point stands.

“Ok then Lee. Kettering still has some paperwork that you need to fill out but we’ll save that ‘til you need punishing. Twenty-three pages of tedious family history, risk assessments and reference forms. Truly a masterpiece of torture.” He stared off into the distance wistfully, whether sarcastically or sincerely I was not quite sure. “For now we just need to deal with getting you a partner and a gun.”

I gaped. Guns had never been mentioned. I’m a witch. Part of the appeal is sort of that I don’t need a firearm. I basically am a firearm. Well, I have the killing power of a firearm. Maybe without the kickback and projectiles firing faster than the speed of sound. Ok, so maybe I’m not a firearm, but I am pretty awesome and deadly when I want to be. I do not need a gun.

“You do need a gun” Jack said, reading my mind. I cocked my head at him expectantly. Maybe I have more in common with a dog than a gun. His smile read more amused than terrified, one side of his mouth quirked up to reveal perfect teeth that even three years of braces in my early teens had failed to give me. Sometimes genetics are a bitch. At least I got my kickass hair. Red is far preferable to muddy brown. Everything is preferable to muddy brown.

“I know, I know. You’re a witch, why do you need a weapon? Because it’s protocol, that’s why. First day you get a gun and a partner. That’s what is happening here.” I started to interrupt again. I fear my head may have tilted ever so slightly. “No exceptions.”I acquiesced after that, only the slightest pout marking my displeasure. “Good.” 

Jack made his way over to a small locked safe. The code was tapped into the keypad in a staccato rhythm and the door swung open. Inside was a variety of firearms, from the normal gun I could see, now that I was looking, on the hip of most of the other people in the place to heavy duty shotguns. He took one of the smaller ones out, tested the weight of it in his hands and handed it over to me. It was light, easy to handle, I looked pretty cool holding it. But, and I cannot make this clear enough, I had no idea how to use it. I told this to Jack.

“Ideally, rookie, you’ll never need to use it.” Strange how he was proven wrong the same day.

I nodded.“Right, so we have a gun. Well, you have a gun. I’ll need to get you a holster for that, but you do have a gun. So, partner now.”

This was the part that I had really been dreading, the part that had set me to panicking. A good partner regularly saves your life, becomes such a part of you that you can’t imagine life without them beside your side. A bad partner gets you hurt often and killed fast. Dad had both. He survived two demon attacks when he was partnered with Kate. A vampire took him out in broad daylight when he was with Freddie There’s a reason a good partner is the most important thing a cop can have, one of us or not. So yeah, I was worried.

Worry that only multiplied when Jack called out to a brown-blonde woman armed with a coffee who had just returned to her desk. She looked feral, long bangs over one eye and little bits of hair sticking up roughly at the back of her head like ears. Her body was lithe and toned, lean muscles etched in stark clarity along her arms. Even her clothes were aggressive to the onlooker, dark red tank top and jeans actually on her and biker jacket over the chair. She was rather scary.

“Frankie. Come over here.”She-Frankie sighed theatrically before putting the coffee cup down on the edge of her desk, next to several other presumably empty cups and a myriad of other mess.

“What do you want Harper. I had a date with a pretty great Colombian coffee that I paid twice the going rate for. I also have more paperwork than you’ve seen this year, from all those cases I miraculously solved. You know, without your help. I’ve had two hours sleep and have just about run out of steam. So, bearing in mind that we both know I could take you down, knackered or not, what?”

“Good morning to you too Frankie.” Jack shrugged off her foul mood with ease. It looked as though they’d been doing this for a while. She only grunted in return. He laughed. I didn’t. 

“So remember how the captain said you were getting a new partner…” Frankie’s brow creased inwards, nose wrinkling in displeasure. 

“Not you. No way he hates me that much. Even after I threw that chair through the office window. No.” Apparently she hadn’t seen me yet. Didn’t bode well on the good cop front. Jack took it good-naturedly, as if it were a joke. The snarl that curled her lip said she disagreed.

“No, I don’t think he hates me that much. You’d tear me limb from limb in two seconds flat, which I don’t doubt for a single second. You’ve got the rookie.” His eyes flicked from me to her, gesturing pointedly with his eyebrows and a tilt of his head until I moved forward where she could see me. Frankie whined when she saw me. I’m not shocked. Compared to the badass cops all around me I looked like a student, one of those people who just lurks in the campus coffee shop coming up with inspiration for their novel or screenplay. The hipster glasses weren’t helping. Neither was my oversized hoodie that shrunk me further than my five foot five frame already did.

“You’re kidding me. Harper, she looks about eight. Kettering apparently hates me even more than giving me you. Kid, how old are you?”

“21.”

“21. Harper she’s practically a foetus.” She was whining now. A full on whine like a kicked puppy. Wolf. Definitely.  “How the hell did she…what’s your name?”That was clearly a more loaded question than it seemed, especially with what Jack had said about people judging me on name rather than performance. I had to bite the bullet though. She’s find out some way or another.

“Leah Dawson. I’d like Lee but Leah is fine.” Voice barely shook at all.

“Of the Dawsons?”

“Yes. My father is, was, Aiden Dawson.” It's strange how that still doesn't auto correct in my head even though he's been dead for 10 years.

Still, she looked vaguely impressed. I was surprised. “Huh. You might just survive the day here then. Good. I’m not having another death on my conscience….” Frankie trailed off, seemingly aghast at how much she had revealed. She barrelled on through. I would have to ask about that some other time when she looked less likely to eat me. Or maybe just ask someone else.

“Any questions?”I hadn’t really got any, and was about to say so when a smartass reply came into my head.

“How old are you?”

“What?”

“I’m 21 and I’m apparently a ‘foetus’ so how old are you? You don’t look that much older than me.” And she really didn’t, messy hair and stained shirt making her look like a naughty child. There were no lines on her face or anything either, but that didn’t mean anything when six hundred year old vampires could pass for thirty. She could have said she was over a thousand for all I knew.

“27”

“27?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re six years older than me?”

“Depending on when your birthday falls, yes.”

“Six years takes you from foetus to hardass cop?”

“Six years here? Hell yeah.” All this delivered quickfire and flat, yet as she walked away I swear I heard her muttering to herself. “Especially the last six months.”

My mouth was completely open in shock. 

Kate had never been like that. She was my dad’s partner for a pretty long time before she left to have the baby, so I practically grew up with her. I might not have seen her since the funeral but she was a pretty much constant presence in at least the first ten years of my life. She was a wolf. She was also friendly, kind, funny and happy. Not like the woman I had just met. Wolf or not, she was a bitch.

“What the hell is her problem?” I heard myself asking, almost at the same moment as I thought it. Lack of a filter between mouth and mind. Sometimes helpful, often dangerous. 

Jack looked at me desperately, but also a little sadly, like adults do to small children when they're trying to keep something really important from them. 

"Lee, it really isn't my place to say. It's Frankie’s issue and she'll tell you if and when she wants to. It's not my place. Now how about I get you a holster for this gun, hey?" Fastest and most obvious subject change ever but I couldnt really argue. The weapon hanging from my fingers limply did need a container. Carrying it around all day would just be embarassing. Anyway, major secrets tend to come out eventually. People can't resist.

I just nodded in acquiescence as Jack handed me a holster. I would find out what exactly my new partner's problem was. In the meantime I had more pressing issues, namely the damned holster. the gun went into it easily enough, but i couldn't for the life of me figure out how to get it on. In my frustration i may have growled/whined, just a little. Jack noticed and laughed ever so slightly before slipping my holster round my waist.

I was still busy looking annoyed and trying to figure out how to get this back on for future reference when Jack's eyes snapped up from looking at me in bemusement. I turned to see my new partner, stood tall and energised, striding back over to us. She dumped a now empty coffee cup on the way, by way of slamming it with rather more force than was neccessary into the first bin she came too. It thudded ominously. The noise alerted everyone to her, and everyone's eyes were on her in a flash. Unlike my earlier embarassment Frankie seemed to relish the attention, head snapping back and light smile gracing her lips. Her feet tapped lightly even as the rest of her body was still, as though she was excited.

"We have a case guys." She finally spoke.

At Frankie’s words everything suddenly swung into action. Everyone who had been seated at a desk seconds previously was now rushing around, grabbing coats from chairs, guns and holsters from top drawers and half eaten meals and coffee cups from bottom drawers.

Even Jack, who had been tasked with looking after me, had rushed off at the statement, coat on and rushing down the stairs before I turned around.

The speed at which this great exodus occurred was nothing short of miraculous. At least it would have been in any other workplace. In a place filled with clearly bored coppers who were all practically vibrating with excess energy who'd been given an out it was rather less shocking. That everyone had left was rather startling though. 

I'd expected at least a couple of police to be too bogged down with paperwork to go, to be able to stay and keep me company. From what I remembered of dad's stories there had been plenty of people having to wait behind to finish up on forms and bureaucracy. The number of files all around, strewn across desks and even in boxes on the floor, seemed to indicate that that was still the case, yet everyone had exploded out of there. The image of rolling dustballs came easily to mind. There were literally chair wheels still rolling as everyone decamped by the stairs and the lift. I was feeling rather abandoned and lost, like I was being hazed.

Then Frankie finally seemed to realise that I was, much as she disliked it, her partner. Probably more important was her knowledge that I was a Dawson, and how much trouble that meant she would be in if I reported poorly on her. Not that I would. Like Kettering had said, I wanted to be judged on performance rather than name. But the point stood. The way she sighed proved that.

"Come on Lea-Lee. Kettering will kill me if I leave you here without supervision. We all know how much damage a witch can cause when she has nothing better to do." I would have argued my case, at least a little, but I did once set my bed on fire just to see if I could. I was seven, the energy required was rather more than I was expecting and I passed out. If not for a snitch of a little brother and the luck that my dad was home for once I would have quiet literally been toast. And boy did Mum like reminding me of that. It happened again last summer, except with a tractor and a levitation spell that broke my leg and only narrowly avoided breaking me, so I can't even say I've mellowed with age. Instead of fighting her on it I just sort of nodded in agreement and followed after her like an overenthusiastic puppy. She sighed again. I didn't blame her.

And that is how I ended up in a lift I had been having a panic attack in only twenty minutes before with a new partner, the unhappy but thankfully caffeinated wolf, a gun and a wand strapped to opposite sides of my jeans and my glasses falling down my nose. It sounds like the beginning of a comedy sketch but the rest of my day was more tragedy than comedy. 

By the time we got to the garage everyone else had left. Apparently the fifteen second delay Frankie had taken to get me had given them enough of a head start to get away already, leaving me alone in a darkended, underground structure with a fidgety partner clealry itching to just be gone already. Her hand was tapping on her leg as we exited the lift. A repetitive pat-pat on her upper thigh. Someone had had way too much of that coffee. Like ten cups too many. 

Anyway, because everyone else had already left there were only two cars left. One was Frankie’s and the other was presumably Kettering's. Frankie stood next to me expectantly, foot added to the tapping now. Right, so this was to be the first test for the rookie. Guess which car was Frankie’s. Right. This couldn't be that difficult. 

Right. Car number one was a massive black monstrosity. Almost van size, it looked like it could take a serious pounding and survive. Definitely the sort of car you could face a demon attack in. 

The other car was a study in opposites. Where are the first was ugly but practical, this one was pure style over substance. A lean red Mustang. The sort of car a 70s playing by their own rules cop would drive, using it to pick up girls as easily as suspects. A dream of a car. It had a soft top and everything. Just...damn.

I regarded both cars sceptically, critically roving over them in search of something that would give it away, like a stray bag or cup of blood. Unfortunately neither my new partner nor my boss were taking tips from low level criminals in bad cop shows, and no obvious clues were visible in either vehicle. It came down to a guess. Would Frankie prefer style or substance? I flicked my eyes at her barely there tank top that did fit her rather well. It made my choice for me.

I looked Frankie dead in the eye. "The Mustang." 

"You sure?" She teased, one eyebrow quirking in either genuine question or to try and put me off. It didnt work. I stood my ground. 

"Yes. The Mustang."

That was when she cracked the biggest smile and nodded approvingly. I hate to say it but the smile made me pretty happy, gave me more confidence in this thing, in my skills.

"Good job. Took too long but fair go for a rookie."

When I smiled at the car, because damn, Frankie sobered right up. 

"Don't think for a second I'm letting you drive. That car cost me an arm and a leg, nearly literally. Feel privileged to just be allowed near it. But you can't drive it."

Seriously, was she bipolar? One second she's giving me vague almost praise, the next she's soured faster than off grapes. It wasn't like I was about to steal it.

I ignored her and followed her into the car, at least after she unlocked the door from the inside. I had half expected her to leap into the seat like a bad action hero, but this car was clearly her baby and she instead open the door very carefully then sat down gently. It was the complete opposite of what I had expected of Frankie, but I guess she had been a complete study in opposites the whole hour or so that I had known her. 

The interior was gorgeous. All black leather, accented by deep red highlights. It matched the character of a car like that perfectly. Whoever had restored it had done very well. Very well.

However there wasn't really enough time to deeply critique the interior, as the second I was inside Frankie flicked the engine on and the car roared out of the underground parking. I still didn't exactly know where we were going, so I just sat back and enjoyed the ride in a car that the fifteen year old inside myself was absolutely in love with. Frankie? I still didn't know, but the car was rather selling her.


End file.
